


show me an open door, then you go and slam it on me

by CarmenOnMonday



Series: Mercy 'verse [4]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Dele dropping his last name drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Drama, Friendship, Gen, Heartbreak, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, They are both riddiculously oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:23:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmenOnMonday/pseuds/CarmenOnMonday
Summary: He loves it when they play football together because football is always great, but it’s even better with your mates. He loves it when Eric celebrates with him; he loves it when he gets so into it that he kisses his cheek, his ear, his neck. It’s all platonic, Dele knows. He loves it anyway.Dele loveshim, and it’s okay. When Maria’s not around, he can enjoy what he's allowed to take.





	show me an open door, then you go and slam it on me

**Author's Note:**

> Not real at all. Don't believe a word of it. I never meant to meddle with anyone's privacy too much, don't sue me please.
> 
> My English might be regressing these days. Sorry.

“We’re going out today,” is the first thing Eric says to Dele when he joins him in the pool after the training. 

It takes a second for Dele to catch up with his words; he’s too busy scrolling down his Instagram feed to focus on his teammate. Eric lays his hand on Dele’s shoulder when he’s passing him by, and the thrill of the cold running through his body is enough to bring him out of his thoughts. 

“Huh?” He smiles unconsciously, not even sure what Eric wants from him. 

“We’re going out. You’re still moping around after... You know. We’re going out.” 

“You’re moping! You hair is a proof. I’m dealing,” Dele answers with fake confidence, and splashes the water in his direction. It hits Eric straight into his face. He looks like a disgruntled puppy for a second. 

It might actually be nice, Dele reckons, getting out of the house tonight. Eric’s right, the Euros are still somewhere in the back of his head, especially now, these first weeks back in training. The pitch has never had negative connotations in his mind, but it does now, and it tastes like a betrayal. There’s this second thing on his mind too, something he would actually like to discuss with Eric but isn’t sure how to mention; it’s always Dier who notices when something is wrong and manages to push him into having a grown-up conversation. Maybe he did notice. Maybe the evening is an excuse to get him to talk. 

Eric studies him sceptically. His blue eyes glint; they match the colour of water perfectly. Dele wouldn’t be able to say no even if he tried. 

“Where are we going then?” He inquires. 

Eric’s grin lights up the room. 

“Portuguese restaurant. The best in town.” 

Figures. That’s exactly the answer Dele was expecting, but there’s always something warming in the way Eric tries to include him in this second life of his. That’s how it is – Eric’s either here or there, and he’s a different person depending on the environment, but for some reason, he always reaches out to Dele and wants to show him all his sides. 

“What a shocker. Maybe we should go to a Milton Keynes restaurant from time to time.” 

“Lead the way.” Eric rolls his eyes. “We’ll eat some good food, finally listen to good music, relax. It’s going to be great,” he goes on. It’s easy to believe him. 

Dele doesn’t have any plans for the evening, and the prospect of spending it with Eric is not the worst one. It’s actually... 

“Oi, Harry!” Eric yells, unexpectedly. Dele turns and notices Kane approaching the second swimming pool. 

“Lads.” He nods to them. 

“You going out with us tonight?” 

Oh. Dele hasn’t expected it to be a lads nights out, but that’s okay. That’s alright too. Maybe even better, for the reasons he doesn’t want to discuss. No conversation, then; he can just ignore the other thing which keeps him on his toes lately, he’s an expert in not addressing his issues. 

“I promised Kate a date night,” Harry answers apologetically. 

Eric shakes his head. 

“That’s what I mean. With the missus. Maria’s in town, we could repeat our last night out. Was nice, wasn’t it?” 

Oh. _Oh._ Dele didn’t think to ask what Eric meant by “we”. “We” as in Maria and him, and Dele and... 

“Ruby’s home, right?” Eric continues. 

Dele gulps. 

“Yeah,” he answers in a weak voice, hoping nobody notices the change in his mood. It’s okay. 

Dele doesn’t know why he even expected something else. 

It’s better this way. It is. The last time they met like that, during their short summer break, was full of realisations for him. It wasn’t easy, but it taught him a lot. Toughened him up. 

“So the three of us and our girls. It’s going to be great.” Eric’s almost glows with the excitement. He reaches out to mess Dele’s hair, but he half-heartedly manages to escape. 

“Yeah.” 

Disappointment is a bitter pill to swallow, but Dele knows that’s the proper order of things. It’s important to keep himself in check. He needs these reminders of how there’re parts of Eric that are not his to take. 

  
  
  


Dele reaches into his pocket in search of his keys. They’re not there, he realises, not in the right pocket and not in the left one; at this point, he’s ready to just give up and sit down a curb, wait until the world swallows him whole, or Harry finds him there frozen to death. He’s just too tired to care, too spent to even think about a realistic solution. 

He’s a grown-up man, he is, it’s just late and cold, and he wants his bed, not additional problems. What the world’s trying to prove him right now, he has no idea. Maybe that he’s not alone, because it’s Ruby, standing behind him, who takes the matters into her hands. 

“Open the car, maybe they slipped out of your pocket in there,” she instructs him and goes to the car, still able to walk in her huge heels with grace, even after the evening they had. He opens the car with the remote, feeling like the biggest failure of the world, and slaps himself mentally for being such a useless host. Ruby certainly doesn’t deserve it. 

“Aha!” he hears her jubilant shout. “Got them!” 

She comes back quickly, smiling so proudly that Dele feels his own lips forming a small smile. She’s the best. 

He tells her so. 

“Duh.” She just rolls her eyes playfully and opens the door quickly, just like she’s already done tons of times. “Come in, tiger, or I’ll lock you out!” She threatens, already far into the living room. 

He breaks out of the haze that keeps encompassing his thoughts. It must be the result of the drinks he downed on their night out, he reasons, it’s their fault he’s feeling so sick and tired. 

He trudges into the apartment and sees Ruby already lying comfortably on the couch, her heels left by the entrance and her hair pulled up into the bun. She looks so comfortable that he aches to join her, to relax all knots in his strained body too. He approaches the sofa quickly and raises Ruby’s legs, sits down and puts them on his lap. He finally lets his eyelids drop; he wanted to turn his eyes away or close them many times that evening, but he persevered and instead tried to burn the images in his mind, so they would keep him in check and remind him that some things are out of his reach. 

It’s worked. Even behind his closed eyes, he still sees hands tangled together, arm spread protectively around petite shoulders and matching grins on tanned faces. That’s good. He lets this memory drill into his heart, determined to go through it over and over again until there’s no place left for any false hope. 

Somehow, he prefers to put his mind to that. It’s already a done deal. He hates that he feels so much, still, but he knows what to expect. He knows the taste of disappointment, of not being enough for someone; he doesn’t fight it anymore, he accepts it and lets it consume him, but only from time to time, as a reminder. His feelings burn like alcohol when he swallows them. It’s a weird, almost pleasant kind of pain, which leaves him feeling a bit cleaner. He’d rather have that than the anxiety which overcomes and strangles him times and times again when he thinks about what he plans to do. 

When it gets a bit too much for him, when the bitterness fills him to the brick and he feels it threatening to choke him, he shakes his thoughts off and focuses on the weight on his lap; almost unconsciously, he starts to runs his fingers on Ruby’s feet. It’s probably better to put his attention on the person who’s by his side, not the one separated from him by a universe of unresolved issues. Ruby lets out a soft whimper; in many ways, she’s like a cat, proud and most of the time ruthlessly sharp, but in the quiet moments, absolutely adorable. He’s one of the very few people that gets to see her like that. 

“Umpf. I knew there was a reason I hang out with you,” she mumbles after a few minutes of sleepy silence. “Yeah, keep doing that. And carry me to the bed when it lulls me to sleep, I’m not walking up the stairs.” 

Her words are barely recognizable, but they’ve been in this situation too many times for Dele not to know what she wants from him. 

“No way. Carry your ass up yourself. Can’t get injured.” 

“That’s not a way to talk to your girl, babes. Be careful, or I’ll make you sleep on the couch.” 

Dele snorts. 

“If you’re so lazy and determined on playing a fighting old married people, you can stay on the couch, and I’ll go to the warm comfy sheets,” he offers, already aware that he’s going to have to play a caring boyfriend all the way through today. He doesn’t mind; she deserves it for all the shit she puts up with for him. 

“You love me too much to leave me here.” 

Dele lets out a long breath and opens his eyes. He squeezes her ankles one last time and carefully slips out from underneath them. He leans in to lift her up then, swearing to himself that he’ll never let anyone see him like this. Whipped by a woman; who would’ve thought? 

“Come on, then,” he warns her, before taking her into his arms, bridal style. The irony of the situation doesn’t escape him, but she’s his person, and the sight of her without her guard up melts his heart; in many ways, she’s just like him, able to take off her carefully crafted mask only when she’s at home. They’re a good team. 

He slowly walks up the stairs, careful not to make any sudden moves, and goes to the second door on the right. The bed is already made, covered by plush pillows and fluffy duvets. He lays Ruby down, arranges the duvet around her and leans in to kiss her on her temple. 

“Ew.” He grimaces when he realises she still has all her products on her face. “You’re going to get your make-up all over the bed sheets.” 

“Fuck off. You’ll buy the new ones,” she mumbles. 

“You’re spoilt rotten!” 

She makes a face without opening her eyes. 

“Me? You could just wash them if you knew how to use a washing machine.” 

He knows, just not this tricky new one he has in the apartment. 

“Okay, okay, suit yourself, just don’t bitch about your eyes stinging tomorrow.” 

At that, she opens them and gives him a fond look. 

“I’ll be okay,” she says unnaturally softly. It’s the late night atmosphere that makes them both so unguarded, only that, Dele tells himself, when he feels Ruby’s hand squeezing his own. “Will you?” 

Dele shrugs without conviction. 

“I’m great. As always.” He can tell that she’s been wanting to talk to him about it for a while, even though they never really do, but he can’t do this now, it’d feel too much like a open heart surgery when he’s still a bit raw from all the bending over backwards to fill the position of a best friend and a best friend only. If they talked now, he would uncover too much. It’s not even that he doesn’t want to open to her; in fact, he doesn’t want to admit some things out loud, to himself because then... it’d all get real. 

He clears his throat. “Okay, enough, sleep. You can barely keep your eyes open.” 

He gets up, gives her one last pat on the leg. He’s by the door already when he realises he didn’t say what he meant to tell her this whole evening. 

“Thank you,” he whispers and leaves the room. He goes to the one to the left, where his own bed awaits him; too big, too cold, a bit too lonely. 

He wishes for sleep, but his mind keeps wandering, and behind his closed eyes, there’re still the same images flashing over and over again – perfect pictures of two blond figures. 

  
  
  


“Ugh, last night me was such an idiot,” Ruby complains when she enters the kitchen in the morning. Dele’s already there – he’s not exactly an early riser, but he needs to keep his sleep schedule tight, they’re back in the training tomorrow morning. 

He lifts his stare from the game he’s playing on the phone and notices that Ruby keeps squinting her eyes. It’s obvious they hurt, the redness all around them an indication enough. 

“If only someone had warned you,” Dele taunts her, but without any real fire in his voice. He doesn’t like it when she’s hurting. 

Her long stare is enough to shut him up, despite the rabbit eyes and all. 

She drops on the chair opposite from him. 

“So, yesterday-“ 

“Harry’s coming over in the evening!” he jumps in. 

“...okay?” She’s looking at him incredulously. “Last night-“ 

“Do you think we should cook something for dinner?” 

“What?” There’s impatience growing in her voice. “We never cook. Just order something. I’m trying to have a talk here.” 

“...don’t.” 

Dele lowers his eyes and stares into his oatmeal. He’s done with this topic already. In the light of the day, he notices how stupid ( _weak_ , his brain contributes) he gets sometimes. He doesn’t want to be that person; he won’t allow it. 

“Dele.” 

“I don’t know what you want from me. There’s nothing to talk about. Forget it,” he recites emotionlessly, but inside, he’s just begging her to let it go. It’s really not worth it. 

“I know we ignore the obvious, but for how long are you going to-“ 

She pushes too far; he snaps involuntarily. 

“Oh my god, stop it!” He raises from his seat and starts into the direction of a sink. “Breakfast? Look at that, what a perfect boyfriend you’ve got, I’ll get you some.” 

She’s not one to back down easily; they’re similar in that aspect too. She has thunders in her eyes now. 

“I don’t want fucking breakfast!” She raises her voice. “Are you mad? I’m just trying to talk about last night, what’s so bad about it? I’m your friend, Dele, you can ta-“ 

“You’re my fake girlfriend, that’s who you are!” He regrets this words as soon as they leave his mouth, but it’s too late now anyway. He goes on. “Stop prying. It’s pissing me off.” 

She raises her brow at him, not really covering her rage. 

“Oh, so you only need me when it’s convenient, right? You need me to be your beard and to keep Maria entertained while you make heart eyes at her man, but when it comes to actual problems solving, when I just want to be your friend and help you because I can’t stand your pining anymore, then you don’t need me? Wow. Just wow.” The disappointment in her voice washes Dele like a cold shower. 

He hits his forehead with his palm, feeling done with this whole thing. 

It’d be funny, how easy it is to him to snap at the people who make his life so much better, who help his get through the days, if it weren’t so ironic. In front of them, he can’t be truly himself; maybe that’s why he shows them even his darkest sides, the ones he’s ashamed of, ones he would never show people he’s not comfortable with. 

The ones he’s afraid of because they might be a proof that some things run in your blood. He refuses to accept it. 

“No, fuck, no, I don’t mean that,” he whispers. 

Ruby raises from her chair and approaches him; she lifts up her finger at him and gives him a hard stare. 

“You better fucking not because if you wanted some soulless actress who would just pose for the photos with you, you got the wrong address. I’m your friend, first and foremost. Understood?” He feels himself nodding. “Good.” 

She turns around to dig into the fridge. It also gives her the reason to hide her face from him. When she speaks, it’s in soft whisper, powerful enough to make Dele sway on his legs. 

“I can’t stand seeing you like this...” 

The panic strikes Dele in a sharp pang. 

“Am I that obvious? Do you think-“ 

“No. I know you, I can tell, I don’t think others noticed.” She closes the fridge and measures him again, care in her voice obvious. “I’ll let you off the hook, but please tell me we’re not going out with them any time soon. It’s like you’re torturing yourself on purpose.” 

“Eric asked us out. I couldn’t say no.” 

“But you could. And you should’ve if the only reason we went was so you could follow your masochist tendencies.” 

“It was just drinks with friends, no big deal.” 

“Who are you kidding? Yourself? Cause I didn’t take you for a fool, but who knows...” She balances on the line between a joke and a serious remark. Dele gets it, that’s the way he speaks when it all gets too heavy. He’s done with this conversation though. He won’t run away for forever, but at the moment, he can still try. 

“Enough. Let’s forget about it.” He doesn’t mention how this Eric situation isn’t really the only thing on his mind. How he actually needs his friend now, but feels like he can’t count on him when his girlfriend is around. 

Because that’s how it is. Eric makes him feel like the most important person in his life, he has a talent of putting others first, but only as long as Maria stays out of the picture. Dele can’t win with her when she’s in London. It doesn’t matter that all he needs at the moment is his friend, nothing more. 

He doesn’t mention it because then Ruby would drill him until he would tell her what’s happening, but it’s not something he wants to share with her. With anyone, really, apart from Eric. 

“Till the next time.” Ruby smiles sadly, but nods in the end. She takes her breakfast with her to the living room, but on her way, she lets out one more comment. 

“You deserve more than that,” she says with a certainty Dele envies. 

Because maybe he doesn’t. Maybe this is exactly what he deserves for falling for his straight as an arrow and very much taken best friend. 

  
  
  


As much as it pains Dele to admit it, Ruby’s his saviour. 

When he first stepped into the world of football, he was a little kid with idealistic beliefs. He despised all those fake people with their fake lives tainting the football world with their lack of authenticity. He’d never imagined himself changing into someone like that. The thought of putting up the show for the public, making a joke out of his private life, had made him sick; it seemed too much like cowardice, like hiding behind someone else’s back. He’d never been one to do that. 

He was sure, then, that he’d rather fire his agency than agree to such bullshit. 

He’d never imagined that instead of a some soulless agent, it would be his brother proposing to find him a fake girlfriend. Dele could never accuse him of meddling with his life, of trying to sold him like some product. If there’s one person Dele had always trusted with his life, it’s Harry, so Dele listened to his reasoning and found himself actually considering it. Still, he said no. It seemed like too much trouble (and too much lying) just to be on a safe side with fans. Dele didn’t really care what they would say about his permanent single status. He didn’t want to let his life slip away from his hands and grow into something bigger, foreign, not his. 

He’d wanted to remain Dele. Just Dele. 

He still remembers what had changed his mind. 

It seems like it was just yesterday, the interview Eric conducted for the Spurs TV. It seems like it was a million light years ago too. 

“Any new love interest in your life?” Eric had asked, unexpectedly, interrupting Dele’s laugh, and it felt like a conclusion of weeks and weeks of this game they’d played. It felt like the inevitable climax of the built-up tension between them. All the touching, and knowing smiles, and cheeky comments. All care and compassion and support. It had all led to that. 

Dele’d never let himself believe it could be something real between them, never wanted to hope, but in that one moment, relaxed from all the banter and joking (recorded by the freaking camera), just this once, he thought: he can’t be that oblivious. He knows. He knows, and he’s in it too. 

So Dele flirted that much more, revealed all his cards and let himself get drunk on the excitement of what was to come. 

They walked out of the room, arms bumping, smiles on their faces. Dele felt like he was flying. 

“Any plans for tonight?” he asked, ready to hear something close to “whatever, but with you”. 

“Oh yeah. Very exciting.” Eric beamed at him, picture of pure happiness. 

“Yeah?” Dele prompted. 

Eric blushed. He actually blushed. It would be one of Dele’s favourite memories, if not... 

“I got a date.” 

_...with me?_ Dele’s brain contributed, even though his heart had already missed a bit, worried. He stopped in half a step without even realising. 

“A date?” His voice wavered embarrassingly. 

“Maria’s coming to London. We’re good now. Perfect.” Eric looked down, with his hand on the neck, sheepish. 

The last time he’d heard of her, weeks before, Eric was considering breaking up things with her, because, as he said, his heart wasn’t in it. Something must have changed drastically then. 

“That’s great.” Dele whispered, not loud enough to cover the sound of his heart beating pathetically in response to the hit it just took. “Great.” 

He had never regretted believing in something good happening in his life more. 

Eric peered at him and didn’t notice anything out of ordinary because he continued: 

“I hoped you could meet her? I told her a lot about you.” 

Eric and Maria. And then him, alone, forced to watch them together; forced to look at Eric treating her exactly like he treats Dele, but with the underlying emotion which their relationship apparently lacks. 

He genuinely wouldn’t survive it. It would leave him in pieces. 

“I can’t. Busy tonight. Tomorrow too. How long is she staying? Maybe next time she comes around,” Dele stuttered, ready to run away from this situation, ready to fly like he always does. 

He wouldn’t be able to refuse to meet her forever; he was painfully aware of that. The idea of spending the evening with just them made him feel sick, and he knew, in that moment, that he needed to find some solution, he needed support system. Someone to take his mind off things. Someone to create a buffer between him and the happy couple. Maybe he was a coward; he didn’t care anymore, as long as he wouldn’t have to face the reality alone. 

It would probably make for a good excuse, too, in case Eric ever smelled some weird behaviour of his. 

That night, he had a serious conversation with Harry; two weeks later, he met Ruby, a friend of a friend, who seemed intimidating but nice enough, and at least wasn’t some stranger found god knows where. He didn’t trust her immediately, it took some time and effort from both sides. Ruby asked him over and over again why he even needs her, what’s his deal, continued to pry, but Dele refused to tell her, determined to keep this relationship professional. 

He didn’t have to tell her. It took her a few glances at him and Eric, when they actually met for the double date for the first time, to know what’s up. He could see the realisation flashing in her eyes. In her typical manner, she got down to business; she grew protective of him, tried to create a barrier between him and Maria, was mindful of his emotions and ready to help him as much as she could. And she never asked for the explanation again. She managed to get through all his walls, and his feelings towards her grew from just gratefulness to actual platonic love. In an ironic way, she was one of the few people who knew his true face. One that not even Eric managed to uncover. 

But it all happened months ago, to the young, naive Dele, who was too open, too trusting, focused too much on things that are not important. 

He’s different now. He has his life figured out: football first, friends and family second. Love life? Not applicable. 

  
  
  


It’s almost two weeks later that the news hits the public. Dele waits for that day anxiously, aware of its significance. It’s a milestone in his career. Even though he’s scared of the public reaction and possible ugly consequences, he puts on his game face, holds his head high and tries to fake it till he makes it – that’s his way to survive the day. 

He comes into the locker room and tries not to notice how a few whispered conversation end as soon as he enters. He can’t blame others for their interest. Frankly, he’s as much nervous as curious about their reaction. 

Sonny approaches him first, his smile and elaborate handshake breaking the ice. Just like that, it gets easier to breathe. 

“Alright, Dele?” Hugo shouts from across the room, and it feels like any other morning. Other lads join in, they exchange high-fives, talk about the approaching match with Everton, and ignore the details; ignore how the shirt hanging in his locker says a different thing than it said last season. Different than it said just yesterday. 

Dele can feel a pair of eyes on himself, following his every move, and accepts the inevitable confrontation waiting for him. For now, he takes a few deep breaths and makes sure to show the gaffer in training that he didn’t lose his focus, that this is better not only for him, but for the club too. Pochettino nods with appreciation at the three goals Dele scores during their five-a-side. Eric squeezes him tight after his every goal, as if he’s trying to convey through his hugs more than just pride for his sporting achievements. 

After the training, he joins his side and puts his arm around Dele’s shoulders. 

“Dinner at mine? The dogs miss you. They told me this morning that no one gets as funnily annoyed at them as you.” 

Dele rolls his eyes. Eric’s not conspicuous at all; it’s obvious he just wants to lure him in to ask all the question he must be dying to ask. It’s not normal for Dele to not share everything with him. He must be surprised, but he does a good job with hiding it. 

“I’m driving,” Dele dares to declare. 

“My baby? In your dreams.” Eric’s hip hits his, and Dele lets him take the lead. It’s easy to fall into the feeling of security offered by his friend. 

  
  
  


The dinner Eric prepared makes Dele forget about all his worries. It’s better than anything he could cook himself and half of the ordered take-out he’s tried since he moved to London. Sally used to say that a homemade dish is the best way to tell someone you care about them; Dele knows what she meant now. He feels cared for, as always in the Dier household. 

In the end, leaving behind all the unresolved tension between them, Dele’s extremely lucky to have found someone like that in his life, and most of the time, he’s just thankful for meeting Eric. It’s more than he expected from his life. 

“Ah. We just gained a few pounds. Poch will kill us,” Eric complains from where he’s standing by the sink. 

“Will kill you! You’re the bad influence. You’re supposed to be older, wiser...” 

Eric’s pink shorts tell a different story. He squints his eyes at him. 

“Ungrateful brat.” 

“Oh no, I’m _very_ grateful, especially for the heartburn your food gave me.” 

Eric pretends to be offended. “Cisco, Clay! You know what to do.” They do; they lazily open their eyes, peer at Eric with no real interest, and go back to their nap in peace. “Traitors.” 

“They love me more.” 

“That they do.” Eric mutters. He finishes washing the dishes – Dele offered to help, but Eric said he would like to keep all his plates intact, thank you very much – and falls down on the couch next to Dele. 

It’s been going on for too long now, they ignored the elephant in the room this entire day. Dele decides to just get it over with. 

“So. I’m just Dele now.” 

The anxiety he’s lived with these last few weeks, the preparations, talks he had to endure, questions he had to answer, the courage he had to build up to even dare... It can all be summarized by this one sentence. 

Sounds easier then what he had to go through to get a piece of his life back. 

“You were always just Dele,” Eric answers without missing a beat. 

“Yeah, but like... Officially. Dele. Period.” He’s nervous again, and it shows in his voice wavering. Maybe it’s because he actually cares about Eric’s opinion. It’s important for him to know Eric accepts it, doesn’t consider him a baby throwing a tantrum. God knows some people do. 

Eric’s dead serious now in a way he studies him. It feels too much like an X-ray; he measures him, and Dele’s afraid for a second that he’ll be able to peer into the deepest pits of his souls. He can’t deny it makes him feel valid, though; important enough to keep the full attention of those smart blue eyes. 

Eric slowly smiles and reaches out his hand. 

“Eric,” he introduces himself, the dork he is. 

Dele shakes his head fondly. 

“I know, you butthead.” He chuckles but reaches out his hand too. He’s surprised when he suddenly gets pulled into Eric’s arms. They engulf him in the warmth which manages to melt the ice that surrounded his heart the entire day. Dele waits two, three seconds, awkwardly tries not to get too comfortable and expects Eric to break the hug, but he doesn’t, just rearranges them to lean on the couch back. 

“I’m proud of you,” he says in law voice, straight into Dele’s ear. He squeezes him even tighter. 

It’s enough to break through Dele’s fake confidence. He tries to clear his throat a few times, his eyelids flutter in an attempt to stop his eyes from watering, and in the end he just nods into Eric’s neck, trying to calm himself down. He slowly but surely gets drunk on this feeling of having someone to keep him in one piece. 

He hasn’t realised he longed for that, a confirmation that he did the right thing, a validation of his actions and a promise that he doesn’t have to face it alone. He tried to manage his life on his own, didn’t even ask Harry for an advice, didn’t talk to Eric because he felt like he was somewhere else, but now, finally, he feels understood. Dele equally loves and hates Eric for knowing him so well. 

It’s the best feeling in the world; the worst and the most dangerous too. 

Eric palm rests on his neck, tickles him there, in a gesture a bit too intimate perhaps, but one that feels right for this moment. Dele slowly relaxes into the warmth offered by these muscular arms and just breathes in the smell of home. 

“You could’ve talked to me,” Eric breaks the silence. To Dele’s surprise, he’s not accusing him of anything, is still gentle, caring. 

_I couldn’t though,_ Dele wants to complain. _I couldn’t because you were too busy with Maria to even notice that there’s something going on; I couldn’t get in the way when she’s here so rarely, when you only had eyes for her, when she’s the one you put first, I..._

“I had to do this on my own,” he answers instead, solemn. That’s the truth too. There are some things which are his to deal with. He can’t always rely on others. 

He can feel Eric’s nod on his own head.“Is it better now?” 

“Hah. I hoped I would feel some huge change, that it would be like a weight’s been taken off my shoulders... It’s not. Yet. Maybe when I actually play in the new shirt...” 

Eric slowly untangles his arms from around Dele and leans away from him to glance at him once again. 

“You did the right thing. It’s your choice what you want to be called.” 

“Not everybody will say that, the tabloids, they’re already-“ 

“Fuck them.” 

“Oh wow, will you fight them for me?” 

“Always.” He answers, a bit too seriously. “Fuck what others say. I could tell it was bringing you down, how they attributed all your accomplishment to the name you didn’t consider your own.” 

Dele couldn’t explain it any better, and they didn’t even talk about it ever before. 

“You can come to me when something like this happens, though. Always. You know it. I thought it was just Euro, I didn’t...” 

“You had Maria over. You were busy.” Dele explains, before he catches himself. Luckily, he doesn’t sound bitter. 

“Oh. I mean... Not too busy for this, okay? But Ruby’s got your back?” 

“She always does,” Dele answers honestly. 

“That’s good.” 

“She’s awesome,” Dele continues, not sure why. To convince Eric that he has a love life too, maybe. To convince himself that it’s enough. 

“Why would you need your old scruffy mate when you have a bird like that, right?” 

Why indeed? But he does. He does. 

  
  
  


The season commences, and Dele’s life settles into the typical routine. 

It’s weird how little changes. At the beginning, there are some questions that follow him everywhere – what happened in his past? Where is his father? Why doesn’t he want to carry his name on the back? Doesn’t he think he’s being dramatic? What about his song? What about all his previous shirts...? 

Dele answers those which he finds justified, but only once, and lets his team deal with the rest. Life goes on, like it always does, but he’s assured that he did the right thing whenever he puts the shirt on now and doesn’t flinch at the name on the back. 

It shuts his father up, too, after all the complaining he’s done before Euro. There were some interviews in which he claimed that Dele, his beloved son, should play for Nigeria instead. _Beloved..._ Dele feels a vile satisfaction at rebutting his points about “Alli” being Nigerian name. It might be, but Dele himself is English, straight to his core. 

To Dele’s surprise, as the time goes by, it’s not the topic of his last name that most often appears in the interviews next to the football. Turns out that everybody's still more interested in the bromance they have with Eric, and there’s always someone asking about it, but Dele’s used to it after months of the same type of questions, and he doesn’t break into cold sweat whenever he hears the name "Eric" falling from the interviewer's mouth. 

They all know he has a girlfriend; Ruby goes with him to every public event he has to attend and stays at his apartment whenever she can afford to. She benefits from the attention she gets too. Fans know about Maria too even though Eric’s much more private about his love life. 

Dele is safe. No one would be able to tell there’s something he’s hiding. He’s learned to play that game. Still, journalists continue to look for the sensation in their close friendship. 

“You’ve got this love affair with Eric Dier,” one lady says. 

He’s able to honestly laugh about it. 

It tastes like freedom. 

“But it really is a mutual love, isn’t it? You really do love each other?” 

It certainly seems that like it, because to Dele’s surprise, it’s not him who reaches for Eric. It's the other way round. Maria stays out of the picture for long weeks, months even, busy with her studies, and maybe that’s why it’s so easy to fall into their typical antics. It’s easier to settle for what he can get when there's no proof that someone gets more. Dele’s too tactile to initiate closeness, too reserved, so most of the times, it’s Eric who hugs him, who holds him, who puts his hands on every part of him. The boy is awfully cuddly, always seeking physical affection and relying on touch to convey his emotions. Maybe it’s his Portuguese soul showing, or maybe just pure Ericness. Dele doesn’t mind it anymore, doesn't complain about it not being enough. He loves it. 

He loves it when they do Insta live, and fans call them out on their bromance. It’s cute, and doesn’t bother him at all because Eric seems to enjoy it too. 

He loves it when they play Mario Kart together, and Eric cuddles into him on the couch. He loves his disgruntled, panicked face, when he realises Dele’s started to record him for his Insta story. Eric jumps away from him like a naughty kid caught by his parents. It’s awesome. 

He loves it when Eric posts about him on social media. He loves how they always have their backs but are able to wind each other up. He loves their basketball dispute, and how it grows into something huge, when in reality, it was just a five minute match on the ordinary afternoon. 

He loves it when they play football together because football is always great, but it’s even better with your mates. He loves it when Eric celebrates with him; he loves it when he gets so into it that he kisses his cheek, his ear, his neck. It’s all platonic, Dele knows and accepts it. He loves it anyway. 

Dele loves _him_ , and it’s okay. When Maria’s not around, he's able to enjoy what he's allowed to take. 

**Author's Note:**

> This part was supposed to be 20k long and cover a few years, but... Oh well. It's Valentine's Day. I just couldn't wait to post it. This way the whole series just got a few more parts. Have a nice end of Valentine's Day!
> 
> Tell me what you think, please. I'm so curious. Pleeeease. Any feedback appreciated.
> 
> Thank you for your constant support. You're the best.
> 
> References:
> 
>   * You know which Eric's haristyle Dele is referring to. You know. 
>   * From the season 2016/17, Dele dropped his last name from the shirt. He never really explained his motives. One can guess.
>   * The tripple date with Eric, Dele, Harry and their girls -[ here](https://www.instagram.com/p/BIC7iIXDZU8/)
>   * The interview with “You’ve got this love affair. (...) It really is a mutual love, isn’t it?” - [here](https://vimeo.com/197670416)
>   * Eric jumps away from Dele after cuddling on his couch - [ here ](http://nirnaetharnoediads.tumblr.com/post/181022165193/deles-insta-story-march-2017)
>   * The basketball saga - [here](https://twitter.com/dele_official/status/841394222473367552) and [here](https://twitter.com/ericdier/status/842075292420190214)
> 

> 
> Here's where you can find me: [carmenonmonday.tumblr.com](http://www.carmenonmonday.tumblr.com) Come by to shout at me, I love it.


End file.
